


Layin' Down the Law

by FifteenDozenTimes



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Pegging, Shame, small cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/FifteenDozenTimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you breathe like that?” Croach asks, genuinely concerned.</p>
<p>“No,” Sparks mumbles into the mattress. “Don’t care.”</p>
<p>“If he can’t breathe, he can’t talk,” Red says, “which is the whole point.”</p>
<p>“Please do not kill Sparks Nevada,” Croach says; he ain’t entirely got the hang of how breathing works, and he sounds like he genuinely believes Red might murder him so he’ll shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Layin' Down the Law

Sparks slides his fingers into Croach, just to the second knuckle, just enough for a tease. 

“Could I get you pregnant just like this?” he asks, in the low throaty voice he’s convinced really gets Croach and Red going. “Just from this?”

Croach sighs and opens up around Sparks’ fingers, bit of a contrast with how pissy his voice sounds when he responds. “You are not impregnating me, Sparks Nevada, you are fertilizing me.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not the same thing.”

“Fillin’ you up with my babies,” Sparks croons into Croach’s neck.

“The Red Plains Rider, does he not understand how fertilization works?”

Red laughs a not particularly kindly laugh; the bed shifts behind Sparks and she grabs him by the hips.

“That’s enough talkin’ from you,” she says, and hauls him back so his ass is in the air and his face is planted in the mattress instead of in its very nice home in the crook of Croach’s neck. He’s pretty sure she didn’t used to be strong enough to do that, so, y’know, praise nanotech.

Sparks starts workin’ himself up onto his elbows so his face isn’t quite so smushed, but Red presses her thumb against his hole and he figures his energy’d be better spent payin’ attention to that. Red’s spreadin’ him open with one hand, digging her nails in just a bit, just enough so he knows this is gonna be a rough one, and the pressure of her thumb is more tease than anything else.

For a second he thinks she might push in without any lube, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but she just keeps rubbing, probably makin’ that smug face she always makes when she gets Sparks spreadin’ his legs and tryin’ to open up more for her.

“Can you breathe like that?” Croach asks, genuinely concerned.

“No,” Sparks mumbles into the mattress. “Don’t care.”

“If he can’t breathe, he can’t talk,” Red says, “which is the whole point.”

“Please do not kill Sparks Nevada,” Croach says; he ain’t entirely got the hang of how breathing works, and he sounds like he genuinely believes Red might murder him so he’ll shut up.

Red would absolutely do that, but not this way. Sparks takes pity on Croach and pushes up on his elbows, takes a couple good deep breaths so Croach’ll relax. The change in position has the benefit of openin’ him up a little more, and now Red does push her thumb in, just to the first knuckle.

“Yeah,” Sparks sighs, rests his head on Croach’s hip so he doesn’t have to hold it up anymore. Red just wiggles her thumb, teasin’ him with it, just enough pressure to get him excited for what comes next.

Sparks turns his head, rests his cheek on Croach’s hip so he can get a good look at him. He’s nice and open from the kissin’ and fingerin’ Red so rudely interrupted, slick and invitin’. Maybe Red’d let him arrange this situation so he could fuck Croach, a real best-of-both-worlds situation.

She pulls her thumbs out and gives him a good smack when he starts shiftin’ that way. “Ow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, and digs her nails into the newly-sore spot until he gasps. She’s entirely too fond of him sufferin’. She has a way of makin’ her point understood, though, and Sparks won’t make any other assumptions of havin’ any say in anything. 

It’s better when Red’s in charge, anyway.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sparks sees Red reachin’ for Croach’s hand, which seems unfair, since they were just both payin’ attention to him. Croach takes two of her fingers, and then there’s that squishin’ sound Sparks is pretty well trained to get excited about. Right, no need to buy lube when Croach excretes all those...excretions.

Sparks closes his eyes, gets himself ready for her slick fingers pushin’ inside. Red likes to take her time with him, gets entirely too much pleasure from makin’ him whine for it, but he don’t mind too much.

Red doesn’t give him her fingers. The next thing Sparks feels is the blunt head of her cock, slick with whatever it is Croach slicks her up with, pressin’ against his hole. So no teasing this time, then.

“Can you take it?” she asks; no teasin’ don’t mean no makin’ him beg, apparently.

Sparks tries to answer with his body, spreadin’ his legs a little more, pushin’ back against her, but she just holds steady and waits.

“Yeah,” he says, finally. “Yes, definitely. Ain’t it sort of counterproductive to make me talk when you want me - oof.”

Red cuts him off by pushin’ in with one stroke, ‘til she’s pressed up against his backside. 

“I like to hear when I shut you up,” she says, which don’t make no sense but he ain’t in any position to argue. Red keeps her hips still, lets him adjust to bein’ filled up, rakes her nails down his back just enough to leave faint pink stripes. She’s mean, but she ain’t _mean_.

Sparks can’t get close enough to put his mouth on Croach, which is probably for the best. Croach ain’t as fond of Sparks’ mouth on him as Sparks is of his mouth on Croach, says it ain’t enough sensation. Still, Croach is so turned on Sparks can smell him, so turned on it makes Sparks’ mouth water.

Croach’s hand is shiny with the stuff he slicked Red’s cock up with, a different sort of shiny than the slick edges of his slit and the surface of his egg sacs. The difference blurs and vanishes as he slides three fingers inside himself, sighin’ with satisfaction.

Red stops scratchin’ up his back and gets as much of a grip on his hair as she can, gives it a little yank that shoots straight to his dick and makes him groan. She takes advantage of the jerk of his hips to pull back, so just the tip’s inside, draggin’ a sound Sparks ain’t sure he’s ever made before out of him with her. Croach bucks up against Sparks’ cheek, against his own fingers, and Sparks might be supposed to shut up but if Croach wants him noisy he can do noisy.

Not that he has a lot of choice. Red gives him another couple slow strokes, lettin’ him feel every inch of her, in and out, and he can’t help the sounds he’s makin’, deep and low and raspin’ in his throat because it’s just..so much. 

Croach either takes pity on him or doesn’t want to be left out; he brushes his free hand through Sparks’ hair and lets it come to rest on his cheek, cool and soothing. Sparks stretches to press a kiss to his wrist, grateful, and shifts his attention back to the other hand. Croach ain’t fuckin’ himself, he’s just keepin’ his fingers inside, and Sparks can see his wrist working.

Red must notice that she ain’t got all his attention, ‘cause she stops takin’ it slow and starts really givin’ it to him. Sparks tries to work his hips against her but doesn’t last long before he gives up, just spreads his legs as wide as he can and lets her set the pace.

It’s a _good_ pace. Red’s grippin’ his legs hard enough to break through the haze of sensation, so if he’s lucky he’ll bruise up a bit, fuckin’ him so hard she’s gruntin’ with the effort. 

Sparks presses his face into Croach’s hip, lettin’ Croach’s skin muffle the grunts she’s knockin’ out of him with every thrust. Croach feels downright freezin’ against him, so cold against his overheated skin, against the fire lickin’ through his veins, the burnin’ ache of his cock drippin’ on the bed. 

Croach gets a decent handful of Sparks’ hair and tilts his head up.

“You are supposed to be quiet,” he says, and before Sparks can even think about makin’ the words to protest, Croach’s fingers are in his mouth. Croach’s fingers, wet and drippin’ from fingerin’ himself, from gettin’ himself off, are in his mouth.

This would be a good time for Croach to worry about him not bein’ able to breathe. He’s gettin’ it from both ends, Red’s skin slappin’ against his as she fucks him, Croach’s fingers slippin’ around his mouth, gettin’ his tongue slick with the bitter taste of his come.

Sparks needs to come. Sparks _needs_ to come, can’t think of anythin’ else. Croach’s hands are busy pullin’ his hair and fuckin’ his mouth, his own hands are holdin’ him up, Red’s hands are busy on his hips, keepin’ him from dropping down and rubbing off against the mattress. There’s a high whine he ain’t sure how to stop comin’, he thinks, straight from his dick, muffled around Croach’s fingers. 

“I like you like this, Nevada,” Red says, low and husky, barely touched by exertion. “Too far gone to even beg for it.”

He could probably manage some beggin’, if he weren’t so busy suckin’ on Croach’s fingers, but that don’t seem to be what she wants this time. He ain’t sure what she wants.

Maybe she does actually want to kill him. What a way to go.

“Do they make hollow artifical phalluses, Red Plains Rider?”

Red’s so startled by the question she stops movin’, cock half-buried in Sparks. She laughs a little when Sparks starts wigglin’ his hips back, tryin’ to take her in deeper, and she pushes back in all the way but doesn’t move.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Perhaps Sparks Nevada could use it, so he could penetrate me as deeply as you do.”

Sparks ain’t entirely sure what part of his brain his reaction comes from; he groans, deep, rumblin’ around Croach’s fingers, hot wave of somethin’ he can’t quite name slippin’ down his spine, straight to the cock that apparently ain’t quite doin’ it for Croach.

Red laughs, again, and drops a hand down to brush, just lightly, against Sparks’ cock.

“We’ll have to see about that,” she says, wraps her hand tight around Sparks’ cock and just holds it there, lets him feel how much her hand covers him, how small he is in her grip. It’s good, it’s _good_ , he don’t care why. “For now it gets the job done just fine.”

She strokes him, too tight, too hard, just once, and he’s glad she’s still holdin’ him up with one hand because his whole body spasms and goes limp as he comes so hard it _hurts_.

Sparks dimly registers Croach shoutin’ in pain and pullin’ his fingers away; he must’ve bitten down. He ain’t sorry.

By the time the aftershocks finish rollin’ through him, Red’s pulled out and let go of his hip so he can collapse on the mattress. She rubs at his lower back, gentle, always so sweet after she’s mean to him.

“You dead?” she asks.

“Maybe,” he says, but makes a point of openin’ his eyes. Red looks awfully satisfied for the only one of ‘em not to get an orgasm.

“And you learned your lesson?”

“Definitely. I should annoy Croach as much as possible.”

“That was not the lesson,” Croach says, so serious Sparks can’t help but giggle at him. Chuckle. He ain’t a giggler.

“I know, Croach,” he says, and presses a soft kiss to Croach’s hip instead of teasin’ him some more. He’s a very fast learner.


End file.
